Johnny Masterson was impressed with himself. There was a distinct change in the attitudes others demonstrated toward him, just as Mr. Lucy said there would be. Of course, the change that had come over him was dramatic. He could see that as far as his teachers were concerned, it was as though he had emerged from a coma.
It began with his class participation. He had been one of those who never volunteered any information and never asked any questions. If he were called upon, he would sit sullenly until the teacher went on to someone else. If the teacher didn’t choose another student, Johnny would simply say, “I don’t know,” even if he did know. Eventually, most of his teachers stopped calling on him. He couldn’t remember ever getting a report card without “failure to participate in class” being checked.
Then one day his hand shot up in math class. He was surprised himself because it happened so automatically and seemed like such a natural thing for him to do. Everyone turned toward him. He knew that most of them expected he would come out with a wise remark or a stupid comment, but he rattled off the solution to the problem methodically, accurately, and even creatively. The teacher was amazed, but before he could respond, Johnny asked a new question, a perceptive question that led to an entirely new area.
The change in the way he performed in school reflected itself in his physical appearance as well. Although he was a handsome boy, standing five feet eleven with light brown hair and classic baby blue eyes, he rarely did much to emphasize his good looks. That is, until now.
Usually, he combed his hair superficially in the morning, simply taking the time to keep it out of his eyes. He had long thin hair and would only get a haircut when his father demanded it. His previously depressed mental attitude had manifested itself in his posture as well. He had slumped when he sat, stretching his long legs out awkwardly under the desks in school. When he walked, he had hunched his shoulders up and lowered his head. His mother had always complained about his posture.
Now, he pulled his shoulders back, emphasizing his naturally firm physique. He had muscular arms with especially thick wrists and powerful forearms. The golf coach was always after him to join the team, but he had no interest in team sports, even one like golf that stressed individual ability more than the other sports did.
Before he had begun with Mr. Lucy, there was a darkness in his face, an habitual glumness especially evident around his eyes. He usually appeared half awake, his face expressionless. But after he began to emerge as a student, his face lit up. The brightness of his eyes radiated intelligence and confidence. He brushed his hair back neatly on the sides and developed a wave in the front.
Most importantly, he began to think about what he would wear to school and not grab the same pants and shirt day after day. He found he sought the brighter colors and cared about polishing his shoes and wearing freshly ironed shirts and pressed pants.
This new interest in himself had its effect on the girls around him. They began to notice him more; they waved to him more often, smiled at him in the halls and in the classrooms, and looked for opportunities to converse. He was really beginning to enjoy it.
Then, less than a week after he had initiated these physical changes, Sheila Cohen made it a point to sit across from him in the lunchroom. When he entered with his tray, she got up and went right to his table. Sheila was a chubby, fifteen-year-old girl with hair always cut too short. It looked as if someone chopped it, and it emphasized her bloated cheeks and double chin. He remembered looking at her a few times before and thinking that somewhere within all that blubber lived a nice-looking girl. She had soft, green eyes and otherwise small, even features. He imagined that at least a half dozen now famous actresses might have looked like her at one time.
During one of their informal conversations, he had discussed her with Mr. Lucy. He concluded that she was a classic example of someone who was insecure.
“She’s more comfortable being fat and forgotten,” he said. “You understand what I mean?”
Johnny did, but for the first time, he thought something should be done about it. More importantly, he had the confidence to believe that he could do something about it himself, if he had a mind to. Didn’t Mr. Lucy say, “You can help some of the others, like Sheila Cohen. All someone has to do is build up her self image.”
“You’re being tutored by Mr. Lucy, too, aren’t you?” she asked him. In the back of his mind, he wondered if Mr. Lucy had directed her to him somehow. He even wondered if this could be one of Mr. Lucy’s tests to see if he had the capabilities to be the leader he thought he could be.
“Yeah.”
“I think he’s wonderful, don’t you?”
“Why?” he asked. He couldn’t help being suspicious. She barely ever said hello to him or even looked at him before this.
“Because of the way he explains things. He makes it all seem so easy and he makes you believe you can do it. My regular teachers don’t do that for me,” she added. He thought her answer was honest and accurate.
“I know. Mr. Lucy is more than my tutor; he’s my best friend,” he said. He wanted her to be sure to understand he and Mr. Lucy had a special relationship.
“He does like you a lot. I know.” She didn’t sound jealous; she sounded happy for him.
“How do you know that?”
“By the way he talks about you. How else?” She looked down at her food quickly, as though she had said too much.
“What did he say about me?”
“Oh, only good things. He says you’ve got a lot of potential and it’s a shame the school hasn’t developed it.” She dipped her fork into the pile of ziti.
“Why do you choose the most fattening stuff to eat?”
She looked up as though she was surprised herself that she had done it. Then she shrugged.
“You could have taken the salad plate. Don’t you care?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think about it. I just take what’s in front of me at the time.”
“Well, you should care. You…” He thought about the way Mr. Lucy looked at him and held his attention, his face frozen in sincerity. “You have a very pretty face if you’d just let people see it.”
She simply stared at him, the forkful of ziti stuck in the air between them. He couldn’t believe he had said what he had said himself, but he had and it had come out easier than he thought it would. He liked the effect it had on her, too. It made him feel more like Mr. Lucy.
“I mean, if you dropped some weight, people could appreciate your good looks and you’d feel better about yourself. Your whole personality would change and that would affect everything you do.”
“My mother says I’m hopeless.”
“Your mother is hopeless,” he snapped, his eyes burning with instant anger. “She really doesn’t give a damn about you or she wouldn’t say something like that.”
Sheila nodded slightly and looked at the fork in her hand. Slowly, she lowered it to the plate.
“She probably thinks you’ll be competition for her if you lose weight.”
“Oh no, my mother’s too beautiful. She’s a…”
“I know your mother,” he said, his eyes small, his face screwed tightly with authority. “I’ve seen her with her new boyfriend, too.” Sheila blushed, but he didn’t retreat. “Your father’s an asshole.”
“It’s not that. They’re practically separated.”
“Well, why doesn’t he move out?”
“He will. Soon,” she said sadly. Her eyes watered and she tugged nervously on the short, light brown strands that barely went over her ear. “I was going to run off and join my sister in Denver.”
“Screw that. Let your mother run off and join your sister in Denver.”
Sheila laughed. She made an impulsive move toward her plate of ziti again and stopped.
“Throw it in the garbage and take the salad plate. Go ahead,” he commanded. “I’ll wait for you.”
She considered the offer and then got up quickly to do it. He watched her closely as she moved across the cafeteria. His eyes were on her as if he could move her at will with the power of his gaze. Sometimes he thought Mr. Lucy could do something like that. He had such dominating eyes.
When Sheila looked back at him after she dumped her tray, he nodded his approval and tilted his head toward the lunch line. She went back to get the salad plate.
How easy it had been, he thought, and how good it made him feel to manipulate someone. Maybe Mr. Lucy was right. Maybe he did have a great deal more potential than he gave himself credit for and others assumed he had. He suddenly felt that he had cheated himself, but more importantly, he had been cheated by other people, people he had trusted in one way or another—his parents, his teachers, even some of his so-called friends.
Sheila looked his way as she started back. He knew she wanted him to make some statement of approval; he knew she needed it. It was all coming to him, naturally, quickly. This was what Mr. Lucy meant by “personal power.”
“That’s a lot more intelligent,” he said, indicating her new tray. “You’ve got to work at this for a while. I’d like to see you show up some of those snobby bitches,” he added, nodding toward another table, one filled with other girls from her class, girls he knew had little or nothing to do with her.
“Well, I did try a few times. I even joined Weight Watchers, but there were just older women there and…”
“And you didn’t have your mind determined and no one at home gave you any support. Isn’t that true?”
She nodded.
“You know,” she said, “you sound just like Mr. Lucy. He said something like that to me last night when he was talking about my lousy grades.”
Johnny smiled. There was nothing she could have said that would have made him feel any happier.
“Well,” he said, filled with more confidence than he ever dreamt he would have, “Mr. Lucy and I have a lot in common. He told me what life was like when he was my age,” he added. It was a lie, but he couldn’t stop it now.
“Really? He never tells me anything about his past when I ask him questions. He always changes the topic.”
“After a while, when he gets to trust you more, he will.”
“How did you get him to trust you so quickly?”
“He just sensed something about me, I guess.” He looked around. He couldn’t help it. It made him a little nervous to lie when it came to Mr. Lucy. It was as though Mr. Lucy could hear him.
“I believe it,” she said. Her eyes widened. She did believe it and she was very happy that she had taken Mr. Lucy’s advice and made friends with Johnny Masterson. Before this, she was a little afraid of him. Now, she fantasized all sorts of future scenarios, not the least of which was a romantic one.
Johnny pushed his plate aside, folded his hands, and leaned forward on the table. Like a tutor overseeing his pupil, he watched her eat her salad. When the bell rang, indicating the end of the lunch period, they walked together down the hall to class, stopping only once to speak with Gary Rosen, who stood leaning against the corridor wall, glaring sullenly at most everyone else. But he was eager to talk to them.
Already, some of Mr. Lucy’s students felt a common bond. It was beginning to take shape, just as it always did.
“Tell me what he’s like,” Toby Feldman said. She leaned forward on her elbows, her face filled with excitement. She looked like a primary grade school girl about to hear a fairy tale. For some reason, Ellen Lorner’s closest friend annoyed her this morning. Toby’s immature, she thought. She lacks sophistication. No wonder Morris treats her like another one of his kids, instead of like an equal.
Ellen shook her head. This morning, coffee klatches suddenly seemed very stupid and very wasteful. What did the four of them accomplish? There was she and Toby and Myra Whittaker and Sally Anderman. Sometimes, Bea Baxter joined them, when she could get away from her housework, that is. Her three children kept her permanently attached to a vacuum cleaner. Myra and Sally sat back with half smiles on their faces. They were interested, but nowhere near as obvious about it.
For a long time now, Ellen had felt like the head of this little group. She was the one who had come up with the revolving restaurant plan, going to dinner at a different place every Friday night; she was the one who suggested the three Broadway show-dinner trips; and she was the one who researched and planned last year’s mid-winter vacation to Aruba.
“Toby, I thought I made it clear that I didn’t speak to him that long.”
“But you said he was…”
“I said he was impressive.”
“And good-looking.” Toby’s eyes twinkled with childish excitement. She had a small dimple in her left cheek that was the subject of some of Morris’s off-color remarks. The jokes seemed beyond her, though, as did so many other things, Ellen thought.
She sighed. She longed for her intellectual equal, someone with whom she could have intelligent conversations about literature, music, the theater…life itself! Myra and Sally were just as vapid at times. She didn’t think she would ever forget how long Sally had talked last time about her new refrigerator. It was as though her whole life was wrapped around frozen foods, automatic ice makers, and an endless supply of ice water. Not to mention the ice-cream maker machine that came installed in the refrigerator. Oh God, she thought she would burst out laughing at any moment in the middle of it. The only thing that held her back was knowing how crushed Sally would be.
What about me, though, she thought; what about the way I’m being crushed mentally, spiritually, intellectually…
“Myra saw him,” Toby said, hoping to redirect everyone’s attention. “And she spoke to him, too.”
“Only for a few minutes,” Myra said quickly. She was a tall, thin woman who could be very bubbly and funny when she had a few glasses of wine. Otherwise, she was very prim and proper. Neurotic, too, Ellen thought, especially about foods. Now she was into diet-light, prepackaged frozen dinners. She could be a salesman for the company, she talked about it so much. But like all her other fads, Ellen thought, this too would pass.
“Where did you see him?”
“At the supermarket. I was with my brother. Tony wants Sandy to work with a tutor. She’s been having a hard time ever since he remarried and it’s affected her schoolwork. She used to be a straight A student and now she’s barely passing.”
“Well, you’ll have to admit that it takes a while to get used to the fact that your mother ran off to join a transcendental commune,” Ellen said.
“And be so wrapped up in yourself that you accept a divorce without any care or concern for your child,” Myra added, her thin lips pulled up so tightly they whitened at the corners of her mouth. “My brother was left to raise a teenage girl, to run his printing business, and to face the disgrace. He was lucky to find Paula.”
“Does Sandy get along with her?” Sally asked.
“Not fabulously, but Sandy is a difficult child, even without considering all the other problems. For one thing, she is too mature for her age…physically, that is.”
“It takes more than a big bust to be mature,” Ellen said dryly. She looked at Toby again. The thread of the conversation hung limply in the air among them. She began to think of ways to effect a graceful exit.
“What did Tony say to him?” Toby asked, remembering her main point.
“He asked him if he could consider taking on another student.”
“And?”
“He said of course. He was very polite. Maybe a little too formal for Tony.”
“He’s not that way with women,” Ellen said impulsively. She regretted it immediately because they all turned to her with curious new interest. “I mean, he wasn’t that way with me.”
“I thought you said you didn’t speak to him long enough to know all that,” Toby said.
“It’s just a first impression, but my mother used to say that first impressions count the most.” Why did she feel such a need to defend him? she wondered. Although she did believe it was true—he wasn’t too formal. He was…sophisticated. Someone as mundane as Myra couldn’t appreciate that. “I felt he had a certain quality about him. Didn’t you sense that, Myra?”
Myra’s forehead wrinkled as she gave the question some thought. The others waited expectantly as though her reply would determine the tutor’s destiny in the town and maybe even for the rest of his life.
“I suppose you could call it ‘quality’. I just didn’t think the kids would take to him and get along with someone so, so…obviously intelligent. He is good-looking, though,” she added quickly. “I mean when he looks at you, you, you…”
“What?” Toby said first. Even Ellen had to lean toward Myra with interest. How did other women react to him? Was it the same for them as it had been for her?
“This is silly,” she said, seeing their intense interest.
“No, go ahead,” Ellen said.
“Well, he made me very conscious of myself.”
“How do you mean?” Sally asked. Ellen already understood.
“Well I…I did a stupid thing. I buttoned up my blouse. Right to my neck. Wasn’t that silly? I know Tony didn’t notice, but the tutor seemed to. He smiled at me and I felt like a schoolgirl. Oh, I’m embarrassed to mention it.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Ellen said. She said it so quietly and so seriously that the others took a new look at her. There was a moment of silence and deep thought for all.
“Oh,” Toby burst out, “I can’t wait to meet him!”
This time her childish excitement brought everyone to laughter.
On the way home, Ellen tried not to think about him. Something was warning her of a hidden danger, a danger she didn’t understand. When he suddenly appeared on the street before her, she shuddered from a mixture of fear and excitement. His appearance was almost supernatural. It was as though she had conjured him up.
She could ignore him, she thought; she could turn away and walk faster, but she didn’t. She turned to him and smiled while she waited for him to approach her like some long forgotten but recently resurrected feeling. She would stand by helplessly as it washed over her and embraced her.
“Absolutely beautiful here in the fall,” he said. He began as if they had been walking and talking together for hours. “When they told me autumn was magnificent in the Catskills, it was a gross understatement.”
“Yes,” she said, and she looked around her as though she were the stranger and he were the native. She couldn’t remember when she had commented about the beauty of the area last.
“There’s something about the crisp air that makes your mind sharp. It reminds me of my first semesters at college, carrying books over lush, dark green lawns, the leaves yellow, brown, and red. Everybody’s skin flushed from the excitement. I felt I could conquer the world, that there was nothing between me and all the success I wanted.”
“You sound like someone who’s failed and looks back with regret.”
He looked at her for a moment as though he had just realized she was there and she overheard his thoughts. It made her regret what she had said. But then a smile came to his face, a warm, friendly smile.
“No, no, I’m just more realistic now than when I was a college student. How about you?”
“What do you mean?” She was vaguely aware that they were standing in front of the public library, that people were going in and out and looking their way, that some of the people who drove by and knew her were slowing down to see whom she was talking to, that she had waved to no one and had acknowledged no one and did not care to.
“Aren’t you more realistic now than when you were nineteen, twenty years old?”
“Oh, God, yes,” she said. He laughed.
“Don’t make it sound like such a relief.” He looked past her. “I was just going to check on the public library. Is it a good one?”
“Not bad for a town this size. I’m sure you could make arrangements to use the community college library if you need more books. It’s only ten miles away.”
“Well, we’ll see.”
He was looking at her hard now, as if he were trying to understand what and who she was. She didn’t mind the intensity of his gaze; she felt she could bathe in it. She almost felt like spinning around and saying, “Well, what do you think?” The silliest ideas were running through her head.
She broke the dramatic pause.
“You look like an Irish folk singer.”
“What? Oh, this sweater.” He ran his hands down his chest, smoothing out the eggshell wool garment. The high turtleneck made him appear even taller, but the garment clung to his shoulders as though it were form-fitted. She considered that a possibility.
“Did someone make it for you?”
“No. Actually, I did buy this in Ireland.”
“Oh. You’ve been there?”
“I’ve been throughout most of Europe and a good part of the Middle East.”
“I’ve yet to cross the Atlantic,” she said, and smirked.
“You should try to go. It’s important to meet other people and see other places.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling my husband. His idea of a vacation is two weeks in the Poconos playing golf.”
“Interesting, isn’t it—how many ways we have found to lobotomize ourselves.”
“What?” A wide smile formed on her face. “I’ve never heard it put quite that way before, but you know something, you’re right.”
“Oh, I know I’m right,” he said. Then he pointed to the library. “Let me investigate.”
“Yes.” She regretted that their conversation had ended, but she didn’t walk off until he entered the building. Then she thought about Barton.
How many nights did they spend during which neither of them had anything very interesting to say to the other? Where was his intellectual curiosity, his perceptions about life? What did he ever do but talk about his business or people at the business? And he expected her to be just as interested in those drab things, too.
She walked on, thinking. How long has it been, she wondered, since she and Barton spoke to each other impulsively as she had just done with this stranger? She never thought about the fall. They never went for walks or looked at the scenery. And the library…she couldn’t remember a time when Barton had been in it. All he ever read were the newspapers and those consumer magazines.
It occurred to her that her life was far duller than she had ever dreamt. This man was probably younger than she was, but he appeared to have far more wisdom. She had missed out; she was still missing out. Was it too late? Too late for what? she wondered. What could she do now? She hadn’t even developed a career. She didn’t want to go back and start over again. What was she looking for? What could she hope for?
All of this depressed her and she knew the only way to get herself out of it was to exercise. When she got home, she immediately changed into her exercise suit. The skintight garment pinched her thighs and made her aware of every flaw in her body, not that there were many for someone her age. She turned on the records and began her aerobics, moving faster and harder than ever in an attempt to quiet the gnawing that had begun within. The music couldn’t get loud enough and she couldn’t move fast enough. She almost drove herself into a wild frenzy. When she caught sight of herself in the wall mirror, she couldn’t believe the look on her face. She was on the verge of either screaming or crying.
Then she heard the doorbell. It must have been going for a while because she caught it just as one song ended and another was about to begin. She turned down the volume on her deck, grabbed a towel to wipe her face, and went to the front door. Even before she opened it, she sensed who it was.
For a moment he looked stunned. Then she realized she was in her skintight exercise suit. She folded her arms across her breasts quickly.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know you were in the middle of exercise. I thought…”
“To the music…I…it’s one of those programs.”
“Yes. I just wanted to tell you that I used you as a reference.”
“Reference?”
“At the library. To get a card,” he added when she continued to look confused. He opened his palm to reveal the card. “You were right, too. Not a bad library for a town this size. Is that OK?”
“What?”
“Using your name?”
“Oh, sure. Just don’t run off with any books or forget to pay your fines.” He laughed.
“What are you into, aerobics?”
“Yes.”
“I’m into yoga, myself. If you see me standing on my head for an hour or so, don’t think the world’s turned upside down,” he said, backing up. “Thanks again.” He waved the card. She nodded, watched him turn the corner, and then closed the door.
For a moment she simply stood there in the entranceway. Her heart was beating just as fast as it had been before when she was in the middle of her exercise. This was the second time he had caught her unawares. Her nipples were so erect under her thin suit that she might as well have gone bare-breasted.
She went back to the den. Her curtained window looked out across their lawn to the Taylor house. She knew that the windows on that side of the house were kitchen windows. She never thought about closing her curtains or pulling her shades when she exercised because no one ever lived there since she and Barton had moved into this house, and she liked the way the daylight brightened her room.
But when she went to turn her amplifier on again, her fingers trembled. She looked at her opened window and thought about him looking in on her. Her exercise was a personal thing; she didn’t have the self-confidence to do it in groups, and this outfit she wore was far too revealing for her to wear it in any public way. Yet, she couldn’t get herself to close those curtains or pull those shades. She felt just the way she had when she had looked down at him from her bedroom window.
In fact, as she went through her moves, she deliberately placed herself in full view. She slowed her exercise down, making it into a kind of sensual ballet, working and more stretching and turning. Periodically, she looked out the window into his.
She never saw him, but her heartbeat never slowed and she sensed that he was there watching her, waiting. He haunted her with his smile and drew her to him with his magnetic eyes. She had fantasized extramarital affairs; she had even made love to Barton imagining him to be someone else, but actually to be unfaithful…she didn’t think herself capable of it.
She turned up the music again. She moved faster until she was almost in a frenzy once more. Afterward, Barton found her flushed and exhausted, lying on the living-room couch. She was still in her exercise suit and she looked like a woman who had made love all afternoon. He didn’t understand why, but as he looked at her, he felt a terrible sense of foreboding, a sense of personal defeat.